


All's Fair in Love and War

by ThroneofMist (orphan_account)



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon Continuation, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Tokyo's gone off the rails, i miss berlin so there's going to be flashbacks, ill tag more later, palermo has a sister in this because i say so, pls be april already, rio needs protecting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-20 05:00:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22943590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/ThroneofMist
Summary: (starts right after Part 3 ended because I'm impatient and can't wait till April)Sergio can't breathe anymore. Can't remember how he ever did without her. Can't figure out what he's supposed to do now. Can't solve the one thing he never planned in advance for. This was never meant to happen.Silene can't stop the howling in her head. Her anger and pain wind around her neck like a noose, threatening to take her life, as well as everyone else around her.Raquel can't let herself break. But she's the weak link. She knows she is. Even Sergio knew it. Because she can't put anyone before her own flesh and blood. Not even her professor.
Relationships: Raquel Murillo/Professor | Sergio Marquina, Rio/Tokyo
Comments: 13
Kudos: 30





	1. How the War Begins

The Professor

Darkness pounds.

I can't breathe. Can't think.

I dig my hands into my hair, ears ringing. I try to call out, but she doesn't answer me. Howling silence is my only response.

I suddenly realise how loud silence actually is. I used to find solace in silence. Used to think of it as a companion, a comforting veil. My own company was one of the few I could ever bare. I thought I was perfectly content alone. I _had_ been fine. But now that I'm truly alone, knowing what warmth can feel like, I've never felt more empty.

Everything around me blurs as I stumbled out of the forest, panting and shaking. The only thing I can feel is the slight sting as my fingers claw into my palms, centring me. But I keep going, left eye twitching in panic and fear and remorse as I run. I try to ignore the guilt drowning me. Try to ignore Raquel's pleading that whispers in my ear. Ignore the ringing shot that slams into my body. Ignore the tears that threaten to fall. Try to balance out the rage with logical thoughts.

I should go back. I need to keep going. For my family trapped in the mint. 

I should go back and shoot Suárez in the head. I need to get out _now_. Before it's too late.

I flinch when shouts and engines start up behind me. Body trembling, I consider just _stopping_. Just giving up. Giving in. Because what's even the point anymore? What do I actually have to live for now? It's all too loud. Her pleas are too loud. _I don't know where he is. I don't know. I don't know where the Professor is. I don't._

And now I don't know where to go from here. 

The plan was never perfect. It was never mine and it was never perfect and now...now I don't know what to do.

Tokyo

I'll hear Helsinki's scream every time I shut my eyes. 

I'll see Nairobi, on that fucking floor, drenched in blood, so fucking happy that she saw her son, every time I dream.

And I'll remember that glimpse saw of that man before the doors closed, screaming and burning, every single second of my life. 

"I shouldn't have gone," I breathe, tracing the windowsill with my finger. "I should've stayed with her." I look up at Rio, who's sitting on the other side of the bathroom, knees pulled against his chest. He doesn't reply. He doesn't even look at me. Just buries his head into his arms, his hair sticking up. It's matted in blood.

I glance down at my own hands, and my eyes follow the line of blood I've left on the window. What the fuck are we supposed to do now? We've lost two members already. The Professor's going to be fucked. And I don't even know if Helsinki's stopped cradling Nairobi's corpse. 

Two crates. Makeshift coffins for the fallen. A father and a brother in arms. Are there spare crates this time? How many are we going to need?

"What do we do?" I ask, voice trembling as my words fade into the still air. Rio slowly lifts his head up, his eyes meeting me. He's bouncing his knees, shoulders shaking. He just shrugs in response. Then he puts his head back down. I don't know why, but that sends a sudden jolt of angry, boiling rage through my body. My fingers twitch to my heartbeat as I push up from the window. "We came here for you!" I spit through gritted teeth. "We came to get you. I- _I_ asked them to come and get _you_ home," I shout, angry tears burning my eyes. I tug at my hair, pain and anger jolting through my fingers and my veins and my throat."And Nairobi and Lisbon are fucking dead. Palermo's lost a fucking eye-"

"What are you saying?" Rio asks, slowly standing up, raking shaking hands through his hair. They fall back down stained in red. 

"This is your fault," I hiss, pointing a finger at him. "This is all your fucking fault."

"I didn't ask you to save me, Tokyo. You think I fucking wanted this?"

"Why did you call early?" I ask, my breath leaving me in angry pants. Rio's face falls as he shakes his head. 

"I can't believe you," he laughs humourlessly, turning on the tap closest to him. 

"Why did you have to call early? Why did you have to fuck everything up?" I ask as I storm closer to him. He doesn't look at me, just keeps shaking his stupid fucking head as he splashes water over his face. The blood from his face washes off in red drops, falling onto to the white tiles. "What are you doing?" I hiss, turning the tap off and planting my hands on his face. 

"You're so fucking selfish, Tokyo!" he yells, pushing my hands off him. Like I've burned him. I stop for a moment, throat bobbing. "You make everything about you! All the fucking time! Nairobi's fucking dead and you're making it about you. Professor's fucking girlfriend just died, Lisbon was just executed, and you're mad I broke up with you!"

I growl, tightening my fists. How fucking dare he insinuate that that's all I'm thinking about right now. "Nairobi was my best friend," I hiss, running my tongue over my teeth.

"You don't have any friends, Tokyo. You have toys that you discard when you get bored. Don't pretend Nairobi was anything else than that to you."

"How dare you?" I cry out through angry and painful tears. "I loved her." Rio doesn't say anything else, just looks at me for a moment. His normally kind eyes are painted in disgust. He shakes his head again before he leaves the room, letting the door slam behind him. Sobbing, my knees buckle, and I drop to the floor.

My tears mix with Nairobi's blood, creating a pool of regret and disdain on the bathroom floor of the Royal Bank of Spain.


	2. La Guerra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pride and blood

Lisbon

The first time I ever rode in a police car was when I was twenty-two.

It was a drunken fight in a play-park. Sixteen year old male. He pulled out a knife. Stabbed another boy. 

My first real bad guy. Pride had painted my face. I couldn't stop smiling. It pissed the kid in the back off. Driving that boy to the police station was the first memorable point of my career. He asked me to stop humming as I drove. I felt six again, like when mamá had stuck the card I made her on the fridge and kissed my forehead, telling me how proud she was. 

I called my mamá that night and she told me how proud she was of me again. She told me to always catch the bad guy. To always do what was right.

I wonder what she would tell me now. If she would tell me she’s proud. Proud that her eldest daughter was so stupid that she hid in a box with a hen. Proud that her daughter had failed her team, failed her and her grandchild.

My breath catches in my throat at that. The weak link. That’s what Sergio has said. Because of Paula. Because of mamá. Because I would do anything to keep them safe.

He doesn’t realise that I would do it for him too though. I’d do anything to keep him safe. 

My eyes flutter shut and I imagine waves of soft brown. Constellations of freckles and moles. His lean chest and square jaw and that feral smile. My heart slips slightly as I think of Sergio. Of him up in that tree. Of him dancing to Moonlight even though he hated it. Of the way the sun made his hair look almost golden. The way he'd put my thoughts back together after I woke up screaming, Alberto's hands still a whisper on my throat. The sting behind my eyes threaten to break, but I refuse to cry in this van, so I shove Sergio from my mind. He'll be fine. 

If it was anyone else, maybe not. Tokyo lost her mind when she lost Rio. But Sergio's nothing like Tokyo. Nothing like anyone I've ever met before. No. No, Sergio's just a man. A kind, beautiful and soulful man, but a man nonetheless. No, _The Professor_ will be fine. He's logical and rational. And he knows I'm not worth fucking up this heist for. He thinks I'm dead, anyway. He knows he can't change that. Even The Professor can’t outsmart death.

He'll be fine. He'll get everyone out of there and he'll look after Paula and mamá. They'll all be fine.   
  
I lean my head back against the cool metal of the van’s wall, sliding my eyes to Suárez as he scowls at me. He doesn't say anything to me but his eyes narrow in disgust. He doesn't see me as the Inspector anymore. Not as the officer he respected and trusted. Doesn't even see me as Raquel anymore, the broken woman he used to bring soup to when things got rough. No. Now he sees me as a bad guy. Nothing separates me from that boy in the police car, frozen in a moment of pride from twenty years ago. A memory from a hopeful girl's perspective, the first piece to break down corruption and evil in the world.

Now I'm the one in handcuffs. Now I'm the bad guy.

"Where are you taking me?" I ask, the cold metal cutting into my wrists. Suárez doesn't respond. His lips just curl, and his fingers drift to the gun at his side. "Where are we-"

"Shut up," he frowns, knee bouncing lightly. 

"You're angry, Suárez, I understand but-" I try to start, shuffling forward as the van speeds up. 

"Shut the fuck up," he swears, the muscles in his jaw twitching. "Don't try anything, you _bitch_." He spits the last word, his voice drenched in rage. "You're a liar," he says. "Always have been. You just had us all on goddamn strings. You know how much shit we gave Vicuña because of you?"

My breath leaves me at that, and I desperately shake my head. "I never-"

"Stop talking, Raquel," he says slowly, his tone verging on dangerous. Suárez has never been anything but kind to me. Stubborn and determined, yes, but never cruel. He never tried to hurt me, picking and clawing at the spots where I'm already bleeding. Or maybe I was just always on his side. Never a bad guy.

"You'll make it worse for yourself." I give a huff of amusement at that. As if I don't know how long I'm going away for. As if I'm scared of my now uncertain future. But before I can reply, Suárez speaks, leaning in so he can whisper. "And your Professor." Threat leaks from his words and he smiles when I keep my mouth shut.

"Thought so."

Rio

She always smelled like almonds. She always smiled when she said my name. It wasn’t a kind smile, but lingering invitation always whispered across her lips. I didn’t take it for the longest time, even though every time I saw her I wanted her. She was intoxicating. She always looked like she was dancing, even as she just strode through the garden. 

But the heist had mattered to me. And The Professor had said no personal relationships. So I didn’t try anything, even if every time I shut my eyes I saw Tokyo grabbing my hand, grabbing my neck, my hair, my chest. 

And when Denver told me he, Nairobi and Tokyo were going for a swim that night, I didn’t think anything of it. But I quickly regretted agreeing to go, as I sat against that rock, watching Tokyo in the water, the early moonlight playing a melody on her skin. And then, as Nairobi and Denver pretended to drown each other, Tokyo walked up to me, shaking her hair out. 

“Not going for a dip?” she asked, reaching over me slowly to pick up a beer from the cooler at my side. I shook my head, training my eyes on Denver as he picked up Nairobi, her head thrown back in gleeful laughter.

“Shame,” she whistled, cracking the beer open with her teeth. “The water’s great.”

“I bet,” I nodded, trying to ignore the way she cocked her head at me. My breath hitched when she shuffled closer, and her thigh bashed against mine. “Rio,” she murmured. I finally turned to look at her, unable to resist that string she was pulling on, taunting me.

“Why won’t you swim with me?” I laughed, biting my lips awkwardly at her poorly put euphemism. 

“You know why,” I breathed as she leaned in closer. I could smell the salt on her cheeks. Her eyelashes were thick from the water. “Mhh,” she murmured, tapping her fingers along my shoulder. I couldn’t breathe properly.

“The Professor’s rules,” I breathed, throat bobbing her fingers reached my jaw. She gently moved my face so I was looking at her, my eyes meeting hers. I’d always though Tokyo looked like a goddess, from the moment she’d walked into the classroom, arms folded and eyes narrowed. But at that moment she looked like the moon, all silvery and ethereal. She looked like someone who shouldn’t even be glancing at me.

“How about,” she started, her lips parting slightly. “I won’t tell, if you don’t.”   
  
And there it was, laid out perfectly clear for me. Tokyo kept her eyes on me, tilting her head slightly. Her hair brushed her collarbones, leaving a trail of water drops across her skin. I hesitated for a second, The Professor’s warning ringing in my head. But it wasn’t like me and Tokyo were getting married, or confessing our love for each other. It was just sex. And she was hot. And it had been a month since I had gotten laid.

So I had stood up, grabbed her hand and led her away from Denver and Nairobi. She laughed the whole time. And then she pushed me against a tree and I pulled off her bikini. I’d never felt more euphoric than when Tokyo had moaned my name against my neck, her lips brushing against my skin. 

And now she thinks I have Nairobi and Lisbon’s blood on my hands. I can almost see myself the way she does, with thick, staining blood dripping down my neck. Drowning the freckles she had once kissed.

But Tokyo never sees herself the way I see her. She never understands what I say. And I can’t do it anymore. Can’t breathe around her again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading :) 
> 
> feedback makes me smile so drop some in the comments


	3. Play With Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> honey nougat and panic attacks

The Professor

I've never considered myself to be a violent man, but as I finally let out a scream I've been keeping in for what seems like a lifetime, I reconsider. 

Whoever said the pen was mightier than the sword has clearly never punched a brick wall. Whoever said that has clearly never lost someone to the fucking Spanish Corps.

Cradling my fist, I sit down, slamming the van door after me. Third vehicle. A shitty plumber's van. Leaning my head back, I pinch the bridge of my nose and go to radio Palermo. It's been two hours since I declared war. A hundred and thirty-seven minutes since the heist was called off and the war was initiated. 

I glance to my side, knees jolting at the sight of the empty seat. Clenching my jaw, I shut my eyes and pick up the phone. "Put me through," I murmur, running my teeth across my tongue as I wait. And then I hear the voice, and the frustrating stuffiness behind my eyes finally stop as tears roll down slowly and silently, clinging to my jaw. 

A hundred and forty-three minutes since Raquel was shot. Since the fire burned out. Was snuffed out.

"Mamá?" Paula asks again and I lean forward, hiding my face in the crook of my arm. "Are you enjoying your holiday with Sergio?" Taking a shaky breath in, I wipe my face with my sleeve and give a cracked smile. I can't let Paula know. Not yet. 

"Hola Paula," I smile, leaning my head against the window. "How are you?" I ask, raking a shaky hand through my hair. I quickly pull it away, feeling the whisper of Raquel's hands against my skin. 

"Fine," Paula sighs, and I can imagine her in my mind, sitting in her hammock, swinging her legs aimlessly back and forth. "I made honey nougat with Abuela." I smile, laughing lightly as a lost memory of making honey nougat with Paula comes to my mind. Her hands were covered in honey, and she refused to wash them until I blew bubbles at her with the soap. I’ve never liked children. They’re loud and sticky and their hands are always clammy. The first couple of months with Paula wasn’t the easiest, mostly on my part. Every time I tried to talk to her she’d remind her I wasn’t her father, and I’d smile and nod until Raquel saved me or Paula left the room, rolling her eyes. It got better though, slowly but surely, and now I can’t make a decision without thinking about Paula. About how she’d see me after.

"I love honey nougat," I say, wrapping an arm around myself. I never realised how far away Palawan was from Madrid. And now I feel lightyears away from Paula. 

I can't save her if this goes wrong.

The thought is soul shaking, and cold, but I can't get rid of it. I won't be able to help if they find her or Raquel's mum. I can't save the only thing I have left of her.

"I know," Paula says, "I don't love it as much as you but I still liked it."

"That's good," I nod, the air in the van suddenly feeling too hot. Shouldering open the door, I loosen my tie, undoing the top button. 

"Wasn't as good as when you make it." I try and laugh at that, but it comes out as a shuddering sob. Paula doesn't notice and she continues speaking about her dessert as I drop to my knees, everything moving too fast around me. The deserted warehouse around me blurs and suddenly I can't see, plunged into darkness. I cry out, gripping my head so much it hurts, but not as much as the absence hurts. The silence stabs. Over and over and over and-

"Sergio?" 

Breathing ragged, I open my eyes, everything too bright. Everything's too bright. Glancing up at the skylight in the metal roof, I see the sun. And the sun sets off a burning rage inside my gut. How can the sun rise when Raquel doesn't get to. How can the birds sing and the lakes whispers and time skips when Raquel's gone. How did we get here? How did the one thing that wasn't allowed to happen, _happen_?

"Sergio?"

"Paula," I say, grabbing the phone from the ground. "I need you to listen very carefully to me. Can you do that?"

"Yeah," she agrees, and I nod, pulling open the van's doors. 

"Ok. A woman's coming to visit you and your abuela? Okay. She's very nice. She's a ballet dancer, you like ballet, right Paula?" I ask, quickly shuffling through the emergency papers I grabbed from the old van. 

"I love ballet," Paula tells me. "I passed my third grade ballet exam two years ago."

"So talented," I whistle, Paula's giggle in the background painting a sad twitch of a smile across my lips. "You'll get along well then. Alright, she'll arrive in the next couple of days and I need you to do everything she tells you. Okay, Paula?"

"Okay."

"Okay. Right. Her name's Oxford, and she's going to take you and your abuela on an adventure."

"Will you and mamá be back after the adventure?" Paula asks, hope painting her voice. "Can I talk to mamá? I miss her voice." Me too. I miss the way her lips gaped when she was angry. I miss the way her eyes sparkled when she swung Paula around. The way the sun kissed her cheeks, and the way how her ankles were always paler than the rest of her. I miss the way she arched her eyebrow at night, pushing me down slowly. Like we hadn't stolen all those euros but rather time from the universe itself.

"Your mamá's not here right now, but I'll tell her to call you as soon as she can. Alright, Paula?"

"Okay Sergio." I make her repeat the instructions, and remind her that her mum loves her before I hang up. I drop the phone into my blazer pocket before I realise that I'm covered in grass marks and dried mud. Trying to shake off some of the debris, I walk outside, the fresh air feeling foreign against my face. Suddenly, all I can see are the shadows, every breath feeling heavy and yet empty at the same time. 

I watch as the wind rustles the grass, as the trees lean and sing to each other, their branches dancing and winding high. As I watch the cool April evening unfold, the birds' melodies loud and ear-splitting and the air sharp and suffocating, I list the dead.

Oslo. Moscow. Nairobi. Raquel. Andrés. 

I repeat their names as my eyes flutter shut, a plan forming in my mind as the song of the fallen swirls around me, accompanied by the harmony of the falling sun.

I always liked watching fire as a child. Liked the way I could control it, with a flick, when everything else around me fell to ashes. I liked the way this powerful, vengeful magic bowed to no one. Liked the way the flames would dance and swirl for me, their golden heat calming. I used to sit in the hospital garden at night, after sneaking from my room, and watched the flames flicker from the lighter I stole from Papá. 

I liked the smell, and the way the flames leaped and crawled, like they craved growth. Like they wanted to burn everything they could touch. But I never let them touch me. Never let them touch anything. 

One day I found Andrès burning ants, a cruel smile twisted across his lips. I had wrestled the lighter from his hands and stomped out the small fire he’d set to the dry grass. I had cried, the lighter that had made me feel meaningful, had been used for cruelty. My older brother had just laughed at me, giving me a slap on the back before he told me I was being foolish.

He left me behind, tears burning my skin as they fell, and I had let the lighter tumble from my fingers. I never told Andrès what he ruined for me that day. I just left Papá’s lighter in our back garden and started folding paper into birds instead. Started making art instead of blazes.

But with Raquel, I’d gotten that feeling back. That feeling of wonder, and safety. Like everything was going to be alright, because there was still this beautiful and uncontrollable thing that no one could touch.

And I let my fire be snuffed out again. 

But I won’t go back to folding paper this time. No. It’s time for their fire to flicker. To drown and scream. It’s their turn to lose.


	4. La Puta

Tokyo  
  


I hear the screams before I see Palermo and Denver, a gun in the latter’s hand. I watch from above, legs dangling off the balcony. I watch silently as Denver aims the gun into the melee of red suits.   
  
Stockholm stands at the side, her own hands shaking. Her eyes widen as she watched her husband shout at the hostages, screaming at them to get back in line. Most of them silently obey, shuffling backwards without taking their eyes off his gun. 

One hostage is left standing forward, and I cock my head as Arturo Roman tightens his fist. “Arturo,” Palermo says, the warning echoing around the room. Arturo doesn’t move. I see Palermo snap. His good eye twitches and his nostrils flair. Palermo’s anger isn’t slow to boil, doesn’t rage slowly and spitefully. No, Palermo’s rage is like a switch. And I watch with a grin as it flicks.

“Get back,” he snarls, and I can sense it coming, like in a horror film when the main character opens that door.

“Arturito,” Denver grins, lowering Palermo’s gun, with his finger. Palermo lets him but his eyes stay narrowed and his breathing stays eerily steady.

“Get back. In. The line,” he smiles, taking a step closer with each pause. Arturo doesn’t move. “You’re a fucking idiot, Arturito,” Denver shakes his head before he lifts up his gun and pushes it against Arturo’s head.

“Are you going to let him shoot me, Monica?” Arturo asks, ignoring Denver. He’s pretending he doesn’t care, but I watch, head against the railing, as Arturo’s fingers shake. In panic, or fear or desperation, I don’t know. I don’t care.

“Stockholm,” she hisses, her own fingers trembling. “My name is _Stockholm_.”

Arturo continues to goad her, his sleazy lips in a sneer. Stockholm snaps back, and I watch as she aims her own gun at his chest. “He is not your son. He has nothing to do with you. You will never meet him for as long as I live,” Monica shouts, eyes glistening with angry tears. 

But it’s Denver I keep my eye on. He stands still next to Arturo, gun steady, breathing normal. But his eyes are alight, burning brightly as he watches Stockholm. “You’re a fucking whore, Monica,” Arturo spits.

Denver scowls and his fist instinctively pulls back. I sit forward, waiting for the crunch. But it never comes. Monica places a hand on Denver’s shoulder and he retreats begrudgingly, taking her gun when she hands it to him. 

“You never complained before, Arturo,” she says, arching an eyebrow.

“I was blind-sighted,” he frowns. He watches Monica like she’s a bug, and he’s waiting to stand on her. “Before I thought you loved me. I didn’t realise you would just open your legs to any man who-”

A sickening slap cuts Arturo off. I whistle as he cradles his cheek, eyes wide. Monica just tilts her head at him, her eyebrows flicking up. Denver’s watching Monica with his lips slightly parted, and I bet if they weren’t fighting right now, Denver would be pulling Monica aside after this. 

“What were you saying, Arturo?” she asks, her tone slow. I’ve never seen Monica like this. Dangerous. I remember studying Macbeth in high school, and although I hated the essays and could never remember other quotes, I always thought Lady Macbeth was a badass.

And right now, Monica’s being the serpent under the innocent flower.

“I want to see my son,” Arturo demands. Monica shrugs, her blonde hair brushing over her shoulders. “I don’t care,” she says before she goes to walk away, fists tightened so tight that’s her knuckles have gone white. 

“Does my son know that his mother is no better than a prostitute?” Monica flinches slightly but she keeps going, walking over to Denver. “Does he know that his _father’s_ just a fuck up that killed his own father. That took advantage and-”

I don’t even see Monica leave Denver’s side, but suddenly Arturo’s on the floor and clutching his stomach, groaning in pain. “Don’t speak to him like that,” Monica hisses. “I left you, Arturo, because I couldn’t bare to be near you. Because you’re a disgusting little man. You have no pride.”

Arturo just whimpers, lying there on the floor like a child. Monica walks out of the room, snatching her gun from Denver before we all listen to her footsteps in silence. Denver crouches next to Arturo, and whispers something in his ear that causes Arturo’s face to bleach. Then he chases after his wife, his red hood bouncing as he runs. 

The hall is silent before Palermo calls me down, handing me his gun and instructing me to watch over the hostages. I watch as he leaves before I turn onto face the crowd, grinning and clapping my hands. They all watch me, their faces waxy and their lips quivering. 

“No one ever did tell you to shut the fuck up before, did they Arturo?” I ask, kicking his feet. He narrows his eyes at me and spits, a drop of saliva landing on my boot.

“Oh,” I laugh, shaking my head. “You picked the wrong bitch to piss off today, Roman,” I grin, cocking my gun and aiming it at his dick.   
  


Raquel

“Raquel.” I look up, meeting Alicia Sierra’s laughing eyes. “It’s been too long.” A armed guard holds open the door for her and she drags in a chair, the metal legs scraping viscously against the floor. As if she needs to be protected against someone chained to the ceiling. 

“I don’t know,” I say, my voice coming out hoarse and broken. I stretch my fingers, the chains around them rattling. “I could’ve gone a lifetime without seeing you again.”

She laughs before she sits down, signalling for the guard to shut the door. It shuts with a click, with a promise that I’ll never get out of here. “Oh Raquel, how I missed you.”

“Skip the bullshit,” I snarl, struggling against my chains. If only I could strangle this bitch. “Why are you here?”

“Well, Raquel,” Alicia smiles, placing her hand on her belly. “You’re going to help me.”

“Go fuck yourself,” I hiss. 

“Think about this logically, Raquel.” I hate the way my name sounds on her lips. “If you help me, I can help you. Let me help you.” 

“I’ll leave Paula and your mother alone. I promise,” she smiles, her eyes sparkling with amusement. 

“You don’t know where they are,” I say, feeling my heartbeat in my mouth.

“Not yet,” she nods, leaning back. “But I’ll find out soon enough. Trust me, Raquel. I always find them.” My throat bobs, and I don’t say anything, trying to concentrate on the pain in my wrists and my head rather than the pain in my heart. 

“It’s a simple plan, really,” she starts as she leans down into her handbag. She pulls out a chocolate bar and unravels it as she continues to speak. My stomach screams in pain as I watch her, and I force myself to look up at the cracked and chipped ceiling of wherever I am instead. “You go in with the soldiers, you look like a traitor, your team go crazy and fall apart. Your Sergio is destroyed, heartbroken, I can go on,” she says, and I can hear the cruel grin in her voice. 

“You didn’t really think I’d agree to that?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at her. 

Alicia shakes her head, slowly standing up off her seat. “No, I didn’t really think you’d agree to that. Especially since I’m still working on finding your daughter.” She walks over t me, and I want nothing more than to be able to leap on her, clawing and ripping. “Do you want some?” she asks, waving the chocolate in my face. I shake my head, gritting my teeth as I look away from her.

She shrugs like it’s my loss before she walks back to the chair, dropping the chocolate back into her bag before she hooks it around her shoulder. “No, I didn’t think you’d agree,” she repeats, going to open the door, “That’s why I brought some persuasion.” She shoots me a grin which feels more like a threat with the way she bares her teeth. And then she opens the door.

And my executioner walks in.

“Play nice Alberto,” Alicia whistles before she leaves, the door locking with a click. The click of that door rings in my head as Alberto leans against the wall, cocking his head and running his tongue along his teeth.

I open my mouth, although I’m not sure what to say, when Alberto presses his lips against mine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the trailer for part 4 looks so amazing omg

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments make me smile :)


End file.
